


and perfection of victory

by rolameny



Series: Destiny fics [11]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolameny/pseuds/rolameny
Summary: Caiatl, first among Senators, Dominus-elect of the Cabal Empire, Admiral of its fleet and guiding hand of its civilization, has never danced in her life. She doesn't intend to start now.





	and perfection of victory

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to Alexander the Great for biting his quote for the title, and to the Books of Sorrow for biting their style, and to absolutely nobody else for this pre-Season of Opulence death spiral.

The queen-egged god, when she met Oryx, danced up his blade to meet her undying death, slipping tricky through his wards to carry herself to the end of the board.

Caiatl, first among Senators, Dominus-elect of the Cabal Empire, Admiral of its fleet and guiding hand of its civilization, has never danced in her life. She doesn't intend to start now.

Xivu Arath, synecdoche of war and general of moons, empress of her throne world, conquering demon of a thousand thousand shattered civilizations, stands astride the edge of Caiatl's territory. Smoke curls up in her footprints; ruin grows in the wake of her gaze; her sword cleaves existence. Her boomer shakes worlds till they crack and spill the hot juice of their cores for her sister's children to drink.

 _ **COME ON, THEN,**_ says Xivu Arath to the little alien in her useless armour, _**IF YOU THINK YOU'RE HARD ENOUGH.**_

Her soft father had had Caiatl trained in languages in her youth. Caiatl had learned to peel apart the structure of grammar, to pull squirming meaning from alien tongues. Every new language had eventually shown the weakness in its heart: a concept of retreat. Caiatl, true Cabal from osteocyte to organogel, speaks only Ulurant, and when she answers, her teeth are bared.

From the bridge of the imperial flagship, she roars, "You first, locust of locusts," and punctuates her reply with a thousand cluster-detonating homing warheads, some aimed at Xivu Arath's feet to make her stagger, the rest aimed for the first of her warmoons, destroying a decade's work of careful breeding in the moment of Xivu Arath's inattention.

Xivu Arath's own answer comes in a laugh that is the same as death. She raises the boomer that slew the Kindly Roamers before the first Cabal ever picked up a tool and thought of war, and sights down it.

Caiatl doesn't dance. But she is a pilot trained in time and blood. She drives that flagship down, down at Xivu Arath, spiraling between the shots, every close graze shearing more of the ship's reality away from her. Two hundred yards, and the plating at her feet crumbles away from under her. She activates the jet of her armour and unholsters her gun. Her soldiers are or aren't behind her. It doesn't matter.

She doesn't dance, and she doesn't retreat. Caiatl dives towards battle, and her grim laughter has the rhythm of a legion's march. She dives and in that dive becomes as much synonym for Cabal warmaking as Xivu Arath is for Hive expansion.

When she enters Xivu Arath's throne world, it won't be through the trickery of a Savathûn or a Sov. It will be through war, brutal and cunning and straightforward, metal tested against metal until both are warped.

When she enters Xivu Arath's throne word, it will be because Cabal war and Hive war have become the same, and she has become the same as Xivu Arath.

She will enter Xivu Arath's throne world. She will enter Xivu Arath's throne world laughing, counterpoint to Xivu Arath's own laughter, their voices the left and right footfalls of a conquering army marching forever.

She will enter Xivu Arath's throne world soon.


End file.
